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Tag Archives: living with depression

She lived in a beautiful house with her husband and family. Every day, she kept her house clean and cooked delicious meals. She baked bread and cookies. The smells wafted through her home, making it appear to be a happily lived in sanctuary.

She kissed her children often and told them she loved them. She hugged them and saw them off to school, waving as the bus pulled away from the driveway. Then she went back inside when she was alone and crumpled to the floor. She was in prison.

She felt the pain of the past, the let downs of her life. Her failures, her lost dreams, her wishes that seemed to have washed away with the rains of the seasons. Her nerves were frazzled. Her heart ached. She grasped for the knowledge of how to start over, for the energy to become who she seemed to be on the outside to transform her insides. But the knowledge eluded her. She was forever in prison.

Her children came home and gathered around the dinner table. Her husband sat on the couch and ate. She and her children talked. And laughed. They told her tales about their days. She smiled as she listened to them. She really loved them. Their cheerful voices and their exuberance brought life into her barren soul.

She truly cherished the moments she spent with her family. She went through the motions of each day, but at night’s end, as she crawled into bed, she cried. Desperation filled her. Though she lived a life that others wished for, she was in prison.

She was tormented by thoughts of overdosing. Of slitting her wrists with razors. She wished for her existence to be over, but she hung on for the love of her children.

Was it fate that kept her alive? Was it hope in things one day being different? She wasn’t sure. But she didn’t want to give up and leave a dark legacy for her children. So she continued on although she was in prison.

How many people live lives of quiet desperation? Lives filled with depression, PTSD, fear, addiction, physical pain and mental torture? There are many. Too many to count. They feel alone. They feel useless. They feel they can barely make it through another day, let alone another minute.

This blog is for those who are suffering. You are not alone. There are many who feel tortured, some of whom you would never guess. Keep hanging on and searching for the love to heal. Because it is there. And you can find it.